


And Lo, An Angel of the Lord Appeared

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [80]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Tis the season, and the ghosts of Christmas Past are making their presence felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Lo, An Angel of the Lord Appeared

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published September 15, 2005
> 
> Takes place after the events of Darkness Descends and the episode Bring On the Night.

Christmas was supposed to be a time of joy and festivity, but from where Ethan stood, leaned against the doorframe in the Summers dining room looking to the living room and the people gathered there, it seemed that Yuletide spirit was in very short supply this year.

Dinner was over, a thoroughly gluttonous feast that remained only half eaten, most of that due to the appetites of four hungry, oblivious teenage girls. Those who truly understood the perils they were facing had picked at the food, with the exception of Anya. When Willow commented, the girl looked at her, looked at her husband, who returned it with a bland expression of his own, and then went back to her plate. “I’m hungry.”

Now they were in the kitchen with Joyce, the Slayer’s inner circle, helping pack away the food and wash the dishes. The girls were standing around the tree, whispering and giggling over the packages stacked there. They didn’t understand the threat over their head. They were still young enough to consider themselves invincible. The sense of quiet desperation made no sense to them. It was Christmas. They should be celebrating.

“Mistletoe,” the familiar bass resonated in Ethan’s ear, making him turn his head.

Rupert stood there, his expression grim but his eyes soft. Ethan glanced up at the sprig of greenery pinned to the lintel and then back to his lover. “Best save it for Joyce. Wouldn’t want the flock to lose respect.”

Rupert’s eyes shifted back to the lone figure sitting on the sofa. “How is she doing?”

Ethan looked back as well. The Slayer sat there, looking small and frail as she curled up under the afghan. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, unembellished ponytail, which only served to emphasize the gash over her eye and the bruises that were still healing from her confrontation with the Turok-han. “You would know that better than I. On the face of it, I’d say she’d given up.”

“I think she’s feeling the loss of Spike more than she’s saying.” He could hear a hint of censure in Rupert’s voice. “She’s never lost someone so immediately under her protection before. To have it compounded by Annabelle’s inexplicable departure and her own sense of failure . . .”

When he didn’t continue, Ethan spoke quietly. “She needs to snap out of it. She’ll be no good to anyone like this.”

“You have to give her time, Ethan. She’s young and hasn’t had enough time to grieve in her life. Buffy will come through when she needs to. She always does.”

Ethan had his doubts on that score. Rupert hadn’t been around enough in the last six months to see how much the vampire’s abandonment had devastated her, how much fragile hope she had regained when he reappeared, so broken and lost, all for her. If she wasn’t able to get him back, Ethan had the feeling that this shadow of a girl sitting on the couch would become the reality.

Before he could say anything, though, the forced cheer of Joyce’s voice called out, “Who’s ready for some presents?”

The young girls’ suppressed enthusiasm burst out in squeals of excitement that made Ethan wince.

Ripper chuckled and clapped him on the back, pushing him forward. “You get used to it.”

“Doubtful.” But he let himself be guided into the now-boisterous living room.

The girls were already tearing into their gifts, packages of clothing and accessories Joyce had insisted on getting for them. “They deserve a nice holiday after all that’s happened.”

Joyce was the one who had thrown this all together on such short notice. At first she had felt guilty for not having started sooner, but in the end it had turned out for the best. There had been plenty of work to be done, occupying the little girls’ hands and minds with decorating and baking and wrapping so they forgot about the mortal peril they were in. Each new girl who arrived was immediately included, building a quick sense of camaraderie amongst them. Except when it was time to do the dishes. Joyce just sighed and rolled her eyes and proceeded to make a chores sheet. She left a number of open slots along the bottom in expectation of the girls yet to come.

Rupert claimed Joyce as soon as she came in from the kitchen. Ethan couldn’t blame him. She looked beautiful in the festive red and white dress she wore, slit high enough on the sides to expose the legs he admired so. She smiled at him as she settled into the arm chair to watch the chaos, holding Rupert’s hand as he sat on the arm next to her. Rupert, it seemed, only had eyes for her.

The first rush had calmed and the girls were all settling in to admire their new swag when Xander, who was standing near the fireplace with his arm around his wife, spoke up. “Now that that’s out of the way, Anya and I have an announcement to make.”

Everyone in the room froze, the girls in expectation, the rest of them in understandable dread. Announcements in this group of late had rarely been good news.

This time would prove to be the exception.

“We just wanted to let everyone know that, well,” he ducked his head sheepishly, looking to Anya for support. She just beamed, her eyes dewy with her own excitement. “We’re going to have a baby. Anya’s pregnant.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Dawn was the first to respond, squealing and throwing herself at the couple, hugging them exuberantly and crowing, “I’m going to be an aunt!”

The rest broke into cheers and applause. “I’m the best friend,” Willow insisted, gently pushing past Dawn to hug Xander herself. “So I get to be the aunt.”

Xander hugged her back, drawing Dawn into the embrace as well. “Tell you what, everybody can be aunts.”

“I beg your pardon,” Rupert protested good-naturedly as he moved forward to offer his hand to the boy and embrace the mother-to-be.

“Well, not you,” Xander back pedaled, unrepentant. “Grandpa.”

Joyce was guiding Anya down to sit on the hearth. “How far along are you? Are you seeing a doctor?”

Anya was fairly glowing. “We’re about thirteen weeks. My midwife says everything looks fine, but I just don’t know. I’m tired all the time, and I can’t seem to get enough to eat. I think maybe it’s not really a baby, it’s a parasite.”

Joyce laughed. “Oh, sweetie, that’s normal. When I was pregnant with Dawn . . .”

Ethan watched as she launched into tales of her own pregnancies, holding Anya’s hand and answering her questions as mothers had comforted daughters for centuries. The expression on her face carried all the pride and excitement she would feel if it were in fact her own daughter. A possibility she may have stopped allowing herself to entertain.

“A baby.”

Ethan looked over to see the Slayer roused from her trance to stare at her friends with sorrowful, guilt-ridden eyes. For some reason, he felt the need to console her. “It’s a good thing, Slayer. New hope, new beginnings and all that. Isn’t that what you lot believe?”

She didn’t answer him, just stared at him blankly. She rose to her feet. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” And with that she went to join her friends.

Champagne, intended for New Years’, was broken out early with enough even for each of the youngsters to have a small bit to toast with, only Anya abstaining. Afterwards things seemed a bit more relaxed, not quite the level of happy chaos that could be expected, but certainly more festive than before. The thought of a baby brought some of them hope, at least.

With all the activity and flitting about, Ethan didn’t notice Willow and Tara until they were standing in front of him. With an enormous grin that belied the concerns of the world outside, Willow offered him a square and apparently heavy package wrapped in scarlet and gold. “Happy Christmasolstikah.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Just take it,” she demanded, still grinning. “It weighs a ton.”

Setting his wine glass down, he did as she asked. Even forewarned, the weight surprised him. “Bloody hell, woman, what are you giving me, stones?”

She remained unfazed, bouncing on her toes as Tara watched in placid amusement. “Just open it.”

With one last suspicious glare to cover his amusement, Ethan sat down in the other armchair and tore at the paper. Inside was a set of four hardcover books, all similarly bound and attractively packaged in a slip cover box. On the front of the box, a young, innocent looking boy with horn-rimmed glasses and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead looked out in hopeful optimism. Ethan looked up at Willow, incredulous. “You got me a set of children’s books?”

She dropped down at his feet, clearly aggravated. “They aren’t kids’ books. They’re really good. And in case you missed it, this is symbolic. Me Harry, you Dumbledore.”

“I think you’re more of a Hermione, honey,” Tara corrected with good humor.

Willow stuck her tongue out at her partner.

“I doubt this Dumbledore person let his student down quite the way I did you.” Ethan slipped one of the books out of the box to open it and study the front piece.

Her warm hand on his thigh drew his attention back to her now serious face. “You never let me down, Ethan. Those were my choices, not yours. I’m never going to be able to thank you enough for what you did for me last year. You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

She looked so earnest that he couldn’t bring himself to contradict her. Instead, he curled his fingers around the back of her head and drew her forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”

“I have something for you, too,” Tara said quietly when Willow sat back on her heels. She handed him a small, lumpy package wrapped in purple tissue. “It’s not very much, but . . .”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” he assured her, unfolding the paper with precise care.

Inside lay a small piece of soapstone no larger than his palm, with the faces of a young man and an old one carved on opposite sides.

“Whenever we came over to your apartment, I never saw a statue to Janus there,” she hurried to explain. “I thought maybe you’d like this.”

Ethan thought about the marble bust of his patron that he had had for so many years, dashed to pieces on the hearth of his fireplace over a year ago. He hadn’t invoked the god since then, but she had no way of knowing that. He closed his fingers over the cool stone. “Thank you,” he said, drawing her down to kiss her cheek as well. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you.”

Willow shrugged, glancing up at Tara before meeting his eyes with her own calm dignity. “You gave us Giles for five months when you probably would rather have had him here for yourself. That’s plenty.”

Growing uncomfortable with the sentiment, he rose from his chair. “Well, thank you again, ladies. Now I think I need some more egg nog.”

The two of them knew him too well, but they both simply shared a smile and let him escape.

He stopped in the doorway and turned back to watch the chaos, more comfortable here on the fringes. It was natural for them to try to include him. The lot of them, Rupert and Joyce as much as the others, had an all-encompassing definition of family that already embraced the four foundling girls and which they wanted to extend to him as well. More and more he was feeling tied here, his freedom slowly leeching away in the face of Rupert’s absence, Joyce’s need and his own attachment to them both. And it wasn’t just them. They all had wormed their way under his skin, even the battered, broken Slayer. Not since those heady days back in London had he felt this connected to a group of people.

And look how that had turned out.

Ethan turned his back on the gathering, setting his wine glass on the kitchen counter before continuing out into the cool night air. Drawing in a deep breath, he let his eyes drift about the yard, the moonlight adding depth and contour too brightly exposed in the daylight. White cigarette butts littered the ground around the foot of the porch steps, a reminder of how tenuous their security was here.

“You know, there’s a difference between then and now.”

The voice was youthful, mild and one Ethan hadn’t heard in twenty-five years. The last time, it had been guttural and hoarse, pleading and threatening and swearing vengeance on the lot of them.

There was no way Ethan couldn’t look.

Randall Evans stood there, looking exactly the same as he had in life. White pinstripe plaid shirt with the wide collar, buttoned low to show the beginnings of his hairless, sunken chest. Polyester bell bottoms of an indeterminate color not found in nature, riding low on his skinny hips. Shaggy hair that tried to emulate the short manes Ethan and Ripper had worn, too thin and lank to actually look anything but unkempt. Eyes that looked lost and desperate despite his sneer. When he was sure he had Ethan’s attention, he continued. “Back then, you didn’t try to fool yourself into thinking you gave a damn about the rest of us.”

“I know what you are,” Ethan stated, trying to calm the sudden pounding of his heart.

“No shit, mate. And here I thought this was the perfect disguise. But maybe you’d like someone else.” He shifted, wearing first Phillip’s round face, then Deidre’s with her uneven teeth and too-bright eyes, then Thomas, mustache unkempt. “You have so much blood on your hands, there’s a lot to choose from. Or maybe someone more recent.” His form shifted to a petite middle-aged woman, short, ash-blonde hair and a conservative business suit. Cassandra Jameson. The woman who had tried to kill Joyce. “Did it feel good, Ethan? To kill me with your own hands? It wasn’t your fight, you know. Killing me may have bought you a little more time with her, but was it really worth it? You know it’s only a matter of time. Nothing good lasts forever.” It shifted again, this time taking on the visage of the Slayer. “So I’m thinking you’re pretty much invincible.”

“What do you want?” Ethan fought for his composure. There was more here than just psychological warfare. He could feel it pressing in around him, an aura of fear, uncertainty, designed to weaken his mental defenses and make him more vulnerable to the entity’s suggestions. No wonder it had driven the vampire mad. In his already weakened state, he would have had no resistance against it. Ethan was much better equipped, making no effort of hiding it as he wiped away the effect with a wave of his hand and a focused burst of will. “Enough with the games. What do you want with me?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “See? Now that’s just like you. Always thinking of yourself.” Perfect white teeth shown in a cruel smile. “I knew I could count on you.”

Ethan slipped his hands into his pockets. “Get on with it.”

She just smiled knowingly. “I’m in the market for an assistant of sorts. You know what’s coming, what I will unleash on this world. The only thing standing in my way is inside that house. You are perfectly placed to help me deal with that.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

She shrugged. “The same thing you always want, Ethan. Power.” She began circling him slowly, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur that set his skin tingling. “Those two inside? They just make you weak. But I can make you strong again. Stronger than you’ve ever imagined.” She leaned closer to breathe in his ear. “Strong enough that you won’t be trapped by your stupid, flimsy emotions any more. You’ll be free again, Ethan.”

He turned his head to look into dark green eyes, devoid of any of the compassion that defined the Slayer.

A burst of laughter from the house echoed out into the night. Laughter he was no part of. That didn’t include him.

Ethan’s fingers curled around the cool little statuette in his pocket. “Tell me more.”


End file.
